


Selenophobia

by sweethaori



Category: DreamSMP, Minecraft (Video Game), Minecraft - Fandom, Minecraft Manhunt - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Bisexual, Canon Trans Character, Demiboy, Demiboy Character, DreamSMP - Freeform, F/F, Gay, Genderqueer Character, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, Kind of medieval, LGBTQ Character, M/M, Minecraft, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Questioning, Sexuality, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, advisor!george, badboyhalo is a fucking demon LOL, børns, demiboy!sapnap, dream - Freeform, dream got them snake parts, electric love huh, genderqueer!eret, i wait months for this to get views and I only get 100 smh, king!Dream, nonbinary!badboyhalo, they’re smooching in the street huh, this is homoromantic as fuck wtf, this story is not scheduled, trans!george, trans!maincharacter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:40:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27933229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweethaori/pseuds/sweethaori
Summary: There are multiple instances where Dream would have rather not thought the things that he thought, or dreamt the things that he dreamt.There are multiple instances where Dream would have rather not done the things that he did. Sometimes, he would rather take back everything.But not this time.An element of mystery surrounds and darts at his psyche whenever he thinks of his friend. There is a muddle, for sure. There are complications. For Dream is busy with his own ordeals- he has no time for the toxic game that is affection.Or at least, that’s what he believes.Things change.
Relationships: Badboyhalo x Skeppy - Relationship, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Dream x George - Relationship, George x Dream - Relationship, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch, dreamnotfound - Relationship, skephalo - Relationship, skeppy x badboyhalo
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	1. himmel

**Author's Note:**

> this is inspired by fucking HEAT WAVES OF ALL THINGS
> 
> never really written a long fanfic before so have a nice time I suppose ijdnencndv
> 
> PLEASE. please do not dismiss this fanfiction because it doesn’t immediately get to kissing and fucking and all that. a lot of people tend to find these boring, and that’s ok, but maybe at least give this one a chance? it’s really cute and fluffy !

Moonlight gleamed across the azure blade, its silver wings flitting daintily across the tips of the grass and the flanks of the leaves, grading even the most hidden parts of the land.

Throughout the caves, a pale glow pierced the gloom, shattering the solitary umbra. The rattle of skeleton bones ceased for a moment, as open eyeless sockets turned to gaze up at the face of the moon.

A form slipped through the brambling bushes of the nearby forest, sword in hand, darting from shadow to shadow. A nightly silence surrounded the King, ensuring a temporary peace. The monsters could cower within the caves, for all he cared. And if they dared to attack him, they would surely be sent back to the depths of their realm.

The low hoot of chickens circling across the nearby plains did not drag Dream's attention away from his prey. Another solitary figure, rushing through the tall grass, shoes leaving barely visible marks in the Plains.

He narrowed his verde eyes behind the pale mask, his fingers clenching around the diamond weapon, before sprinting forth. The full force of the moon sung against his hood and his neck, teased at his hair, left only traces of shadow behind him as he pursued the other male.

With only the slightest amount of hesitation, his prey had picked himself up and already began to flee... which was no problem for Dream. He was fast, definitely much faster than anybody in his Kingdom.

The masked King launched himself off of the ridge, vaulting over an oaken log that lay before him. His footing was consistent and accurate, never finding any flaws in the land, nor any pebbles strewn across the grass. Dream never tripped, or fell, or stopped because there was a stone in his shoe.

The other was no match for his blistering speed, as the King chased him into the forests yet again. Dream could pick up on the sounds of tense breaths; harsh and panicked. It was the sound of a prey animal, being pursued by a predator.

The gap between them shortened and shortened, until the other male was within a bow's easy shot. The King, in any other situation that required a pursuit, would usually lunge forward and drive his diamond sword deep into the back of the fleeing individual...

But now, he wasn't aiming to hurt.

In a quick spring of movement, he pounced like a cat upon a mouse, grasping tightly onto the blue sleeve of the runner and pulling him back. There was no time for the other male to react; with only a swift yelp, he was dragged into a headlock with the blade at his throat.

There was a shroud of heavy, heavy silence, where the King held his friend very still, the sword ready to slice right through the vulnerable skin upon the human's throat.

George was the first to speak, with an almost bashful "Epic." 

That brought quite an amused smile to the masked King's face, but he still kept his firm grasp upon his friend's clothing. He could feel the warmth of adrenaline pulsing from the other male's skin through fabric. He could feel the thrum of a heartbeat, humming its soft lullaby against Dream's green-toned sleeve.

It was quite thrilling. Being the hunter was a thrill. Feeling the power of control... not that it was rare to him.

He released his hold upon his friend after another moment's deliberations, dropping his sword to his side once again. The moonlight carved a gentle arch across George's baffled expression as he stepped away from the masked King, a white glimmer across creamy alabaster skin.

The night was ever so beautiful. A mask of shadow upon trees, cut only by the moonlight's watchful gaze.

"You're so bad." Dream chuckled, sheathing his sword back upon his back. "I have never caught you that fast."

George's only response was a casual roll of his ombré brown eyes, and the beginning of his steps out of the forest. "At least I'll actually get some sleep now." he grumbled lowly, glancing back to wait for the King.

Dream, behind the mask, too rolled his eyes. "Lazy." he scolded, trotting after his friend and falling into step just behind him. 

"I am not lazy. You are." the other male retorted, rising over a tree's disobedient roots that continued to protrude from the ground, even after Dream had ventured through these forests and sliced through all possible tripping hazards. "You are a slow, sluggish-"

"George, you're performing an awful lot of name-calling for the person that was caught by the slow, sluggish, handsome hunter." Dream cackled, adding his own adjective to the list of previously negative descriptions.

George didn't even bother to reply to this one, although Dream could pick out a disguised snort through the layers of silence. A smile curved up the King's features, accented only by the soft argent light as they finally exited the cover of the trees.

"Isn't the moon nice, though?" his friend suddenly asked, his steps slowing to more of a leisurely pace. "Lot less hot than the sun."

"Mmm." he replied noncommittally, acknowledging the change in topic gracefully. "A lot better for exploring when it's night, actually. Adds an element of ... mystery."

"Yeah." George agreed, twirling the stick he had in hand. He stopped in his steps, his gaze fixed upon the village in the distance that had come into view. The roofs glimmered with a dulled iron light... so very entrancing.

Dream stopped beside his friend, tilting his head to the side. It really was a nice sight, and a relaxing one after the hunt that had just occurred.

Another blanket of silence settled over the duo, before George uttered a short sigh.

"I could probably stay here forever."


	2. the morning seeks the raven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you might want to listen to 
> 
> a) heather by conan gray  
> b) heat waves by glass animals  
> c) lovely by khalid and billie eilish  
> d) rät by penelope scott 
> 
> these songs ^ on a low volume whilst reading
> 
> i find it is beneficial to the ever creative mind !

The King of the Dream Kingdom woke in a cold sweat, expecting to feel a gentle glistening glow upon his face, but only registering a harsh sunlight. He blinked drowsily, the edges of his eyes crinkling at the bright sight.

The pale green sheets covering him were strewn all across the bed; half of one even was draped across the floorboards. The light was streaming through the open window. The curtains were still bunched at each side, courtesy of him opening them to look at the night sky. Maybe that had been a mistake.

A groan escaped him, and he lifted himself off with a push of the left arm, settling in a sitting position upon the bed. Dream raised his pale hands, rubbed his eyes so hard he could see sparks of colour within his eyelids, and then shook his head rapidly to get rid of the grogginess still settled deep within his brain.

His fingers closed around the strap of his mask, and he placed it back over his face, tying the brown leather in a neat bow at the back of his head. The pale smiley face stared right back at him in the mirror as he stood, wobbling a little.

"God." he grumbled, grasping the side of his chair to keep him steady. "What a crazy dream."

He didn't remember much already. Dreams never stayed for long. Only traces of moon, and a chase, and the gentle curve of the lunar glow upon both the King and his close friend's faces.

He had been hunting George, just for some fun. The night had been awake and awash with entertainment. The night had been happy, and carefree.

Where was the solace of that now, huh?

The King hadn't really been surprised to see his friend in the dream. George had a kind of... comforting aura. Recently, time with the other male had been enjoyable... and they said that the thoughts that were most consistent became your dreams, right?

The male stretched, yawned, and tightened the fingers of the other hand upon his collar- only to realise his day-to-day clothes were already on.

"Did I fucking sleep with my regular clothes on?" he complained to the chair. As chairs normally do, it didn't respond, and Dream merely shook his head.

 _Whatever_ , he thought, taking the time to straighten his jacket out. _I look good either way. Or at least I'm pretty sure everyone's gonna think that._

Now that he was at least a little more alert, he padded his way over to his tools lying beside the bed, and retrieved them all. The comforting feeling of an axe at his back was enough to motivate him to open the door, move himself out of the entrance, fully close the door, and then make his way down the stairs.

—

Only when he entered the main hall of the castle did he realise that his throat was as dry as a desert. It really did feel like he'd been running his ass off through the plains and the forest. God, in comparison to the wild, the castle was a stronghold of boredom.

Almost immediately, a face popped out from behind the corner. Framed by white-rimmed glasses and tawny brown hair, it was the same face from that satisfying dream of his... the same face that he saw all too often, and thought about all too often.

Not in a weird way! More of a... what-are-we-going-to-do-today type of thought sequence. More of a... I'm-going-to-kill-George today type of thought sequence.

Still, the bright beaming smile of the shorter male was quite infectious, and a grin crawled onto his own expression.

"How long have I been sleeping, George?" he called to his friend, breaking into an uneven jog to relieve his laxative-infected limbs of their drowsiness. "Is it midday yet?"

"Almost." George replied, his brows tipping upwards visibly from behind the giant glasses. "You are such a lazy toad."

Dream recalled the exact same expression from the vision he'd had in his sleep, chuckling lightly at the amused look strewn across the other male's face. 

He had to look down to fully appreciate his features; dark brown eyes, sparkling with their own ingenuity, still shaded by those comically large glasses. It also seemed as if George hadn't straightened his look up much; hair as bristled as a sweet berry bush, multicoloured shirt ever so rumpled. Not that an untidy look was bad.

“Maybe I am, but if I’m a toad, then I need water.” Dream responded cheekily, sidestepping around the male and making his way towards the royal kitchens. It was quite inadequate to barge into the kitchens demanding only a mere glass of water... well, not demanding. More getting it himself. He wasn’t about to get his water from anywhere else, though- he was a leader, and he did have his enemies.

He barely registered the act of George following him, lost in his own thoughts. The King knew the palace inside out, he wasn’t going to bump into anybody, so he had free rein to just wander where he desired.

The amount of silence surrounding the two friends was almost crushing, not that Dream noticed. He absentmindedly reached up, trailing a navy glove across the smooth surface of his ceramic mask, feeling all the kinks and cracks within the thing that disguised his identity. Of course, wearing a mask was awfully inconvenient, and the like... but Dream would rather it be kept on to shroud what he was really feeling. A mouth could only reveal so much; a smile, or a frown... those meant nothing.

They rounded a corner, Dream still blissfully unaware of his close friend’s presence, and George humming a quiet tune to himself. The tension seemed to have been diffused, now that both really either didn’t notice or didn’t care much to speak.

Until, “Did you sleep in your hoodie and jeans?” 

The King startled out of his trance, whipping his head around to stare at the man who had just spoken. “What?” he enquired, literally having no recollection of what the other male had just said.

“I said...” the advisor replied, exasperation cloaking his tone, “did you sleep in your hoodie and jeans? I can literally tell. There are more creases in your clothes than there are in an oak trunk.”

Dream groaned again, rolling his green eyes to heaven as the two settled back into a leisurely walk. “Yeah, I suppose.” he answered after a moment’s delay. “Must’ve gotten tired, sitting on that bed and watching the stars.”

“I was doing that too!” George exclaimed, hopping up on his tippy-toes to look Dream in the eye, or possibly rather the side of the mask. “You totally copied me.”

“I didn’t even think about what you were doing!” the masked King huffed, tilting his head away from his friend, and beckoning an amused laugh from the spectacled man.

There was no response, only a few more chuckles of exasperation. A small smirk crawled onto both George and Dream’s face; if the ruler’s eyes were visible, then one could certainly see the lightheartedness dancing within the green hues. It wasn’t often that Dream got to fool around with friends... he was a very important King, after all, and he had to stick to a more serious exterior.

Nobody seemed to be around, though, and the two were free to joke about as they pleased.

As they made their way down the vast halls towards the kitchen, the walls loomed like guardians at their sides; silent listeners, but swift protectors- adorned with tapestries and paintings and items of long lost... serene potted plants and gentle swooping cases full of armour, or swords, or axes... lecterns, depictions of once was... the castle held many treasures.

Dream swept his vibrant green eyes over the many decorations, his gaze finally landing upon the blue-clad figure hopping about behind him. George still wore that annoyingly starstruck yet adorable look upon his features, complimented only by the large white glasses and moccasin-brown hair that framed his face. The treasures of the castle seemed to surprise the advisor too, even after padding many steps through this towering place.

Light filtered through the stained glass windows mirroring the walls, casting a warm ginger glow upon their faces. This light wasn’t harsh like the one in his bedroom, though- it was soft and quiet and peaceful.

“Checking me out?” interrupted George’s youthful voice cheekily, breaking through his mesmerised thoughts. “I don’t blame you, I’m pretty hot in the late morning.”

“Shut up.” Dream retorted, tossing his head to the side in a dismissive motion. “If anything, it’s me that’s hot in the morning.”

The advisor guffawed, clapping his alabaster hands together. “Well, I can’t say no to that.” he teased.

“Mhm,” the King agreed, “you can’t. Because if you did, I’d probably behead you with my axe.”

George goggled at him, his eyes mockingly round and faintly innocent behind the dark lenses of his white-rimmed glasses. “I mean, you probably couldn’t even catch me.”

“The dream I had says-” Dream began, before cutting himself off. No. He didn’t need more relentless teasing from the other male. Better not talk about any sorts of things like that.

Too late.

Immediately, the spectacled man was up in his face, hues wide as soup plates. “Dream had a dream?!” he exclaimed, tipping his head to the side. “C’mon, tell! As far as I know, you don’t really have them much.”

“Probably because I don’t tell everybody about what’s happening to me...” the King muttered, placing his navy-gloved hands upon George’s shoulders and steering him away gently. 

His friend would not let up, however, and continued to pester him. “Come on, dreams are super cool, and small talk is boring! Or... is it a _private_ dream? You can tell me anyway!”

Dream groaned with exhaustion, deigning not to answer. At least .. not now. Friends were only supposed to have dreams about their friends when they involved fighting and quests. Not dreams full of heartbeats and heartstrings and tension and moonlight. Not dreams full of peace and tranquility and gentle glows upon gentle curves of faces.

“Please have mercyyyy...” he pleaded the other man, in which led to a barrage of more uncomfortable questions. Was it a weird dream? Was HE in it? Was Sapnap in it? Who? Where was it? Was there any-

Luckily, at this point, they’d made it to the dining hall, and George would probably stop with his incessant inquiries.

Of course, as it was a dining hall and the time was midday, there were barely any people inhabiting the large room. There were a few waiters cleaning up after stacked chairs and tablecloths, and Dream could register the faint sound of tinkling- cutlery and glassware?- though the most prominent noise was still the sound of his friend’s questioning.

Even as he raised a navy hand for a waiter to take his minimal order, the interrogation still followed.

“No, George,” the King retorted for the third time, “there was nobody else in it. I was running around with my axe. Leave it at that.”

“But that’s so boring!” the similarly aged male protested, ceasing to speak for a moment as he led the ruler towards a nice freshly cleaned table. 

Dream rolled his green hues to heaven once again. “Get used to it.” he grunted, extending his hand to procure the chair from its resting place, but the spectacled man had already drawn it out for him.

“Sit, my good sir,” George insisted enthusiastically, “and we may discuss this intriguing dream of yours more!”


	3. noon avast

A perfectly shaped cylindrical glass of water sat before the King, perched upon the coaster whose home was the table. It was filled three-quarters of the way up, just how Dream usually preferred it. Halfway was too little, and to the brim was too much.

 _Can’t even enjoy my water without getting prodded._ he thought to himself, drumming his fingers upon the hard surface to distract him from the cheerful sound of his friend’s interrogation. Dream wasn’t really focusing due to his attention span being extremely short, but his ears occasionally did filter through a few choice words. ‘Sapnap’ and ‘Bad’ popped up a few times. He wasn’t obliged to answer the barrage of inquiries.

“Dreaaaammm...” the spectacled man whined, reminding the King of just how childish the people he surrounded himself with were. Sapnap was diligent, and regularly got his work done - but immaturity peaked at every opportunity. Bad was the sweetest friend anybody could ask for, yet anybody could tell the demon was sensitive to itty-bitty things.

And there really didn’t have to be a brainstorm for George.

His mask’s eyes stared blankly at the untouched glass of water. All that talking had moistened his throat to the point that he’d forgotten the purpose of his venture to the dining hall. 

“Stop.” he sighed, exasperation needling his tone. “Maybe another time. I just woke up, I haven’t even had time to drink my glass of water...”  
“You could’ve been drinking it while I was talking!” the advisor replied snippily, knitting his eyebrows together in an expression of mock-offence.

The King had nothing to say to that, so he decided now was the correct time to bust out the water drinking. In a quick motion, he dashed the glass up and took a few sips, wondering if he could run and get away from George. He certainly was faster than the other male... but he reckoned that George wouldn’t stop until he got the secrets of the dream.

“Come on, Dream, what do I have to do? Is it really that juicy and scandalous that you won’t just tell me up front? I’m a curious man!” George’s protesting broke back into his cranium, crashing his train of thought. 

Dream wasn’t... embarrassed, per say. He wasn’t ashamed or anything, or flustered. It didn’t bring a blush to his cheeks whenever he recalled it. But it had been an awkward dream, full of teasing material, and Dream really did not need that. George would probably think he was weird, and then start telling everybody that he’d dreamt about him.

“If you beat me in a spar, I’ll tell you.” It burst free from his perfectly formed lips like a dove from its nest, not detained by his busy mind. Part of Dream wanted to scream and take it back, but the majority of his brain cells knew that George certainly could never match him in PvP.

The advisor’s left eyebrow twitched, as one might do when they are furious, before he nodded fiercely. “Mmmkay! I’ve been practicing, you know. Maybe I’ll get the upper hand this time.”

“Keep dreaming.” the King chuckled, eventually idly sipping at the water a few more times as George rose to his feet. He merely watched the spectacled man toddle out of the dining hall, presumably to the armoury. Imagine needing armour to PvP. L.

He waited there for a few more minutes, before downing the rest of the glass‘ contents in a quick gulp... not that there had been much left anyway. Dream always found that water sharpened the senses, especially when MLGing off a cliff into a lake a hundred feet below.

The male simply stood, raised a hand daintily above his mouth to yawn, and began to pace towards the armoury as well.

—

There was no particular distaste for the sword. It was a noble, sharp instrument... many of his citizens devoted their lives to making and using them. A sword had many uses- blocking, stabbing, prying, slashing, to name a few.

Nevertheless, the King would always prefer a gleaming diamond axe over the thin rod of a sword, which was what George had insisted they use for the duel.

He spun his favourite axe a few times, testing out his strength, before leaving it propped against the exit of the armoury. No use bringing an axe into a sword fight, that would be much too easy.

With a forlorn sigh, he unsheathed the sword. Waves of violet enchantment flowed across its sides, tilting it a deeper azure colour. Why had he even bothered to enchant it if he didn’t use it? Well, he was the King, and he happened to have a _lot_ of spare, unused items- including enchantment books.

Dream made his way out of the armoury towards the arena, which the advisor had designated to be a good sparring area. He’d fought in this place a couple of times, but most of his experience in this building was watching the battles. Man against Ravager, or hordes of skeletons... 

The sands were still tinted red.

And it so happened that the other male was waiting for him when he arrived, cleaning up some debris and other dropped objects that had fallen in a fight’s haste. George was humming a gentle folk tune, his fingers wrapped around the handle of a long broom that seemed comically tall compared to the minute man.

Dream patiently waited for his friend to finish, leaning against a slim stone pillar, before waving a hand once the broom had been deposited back against the wall. How effective! And how peaceful. Maybe he should take to cleaning the arenas sometime.

“Hello, fine specimen!” exclaimed his opponent lightheartedly, clapping his own hands together. “Have you got your sword? I hope you didn’t bring your axe, you’d probably win- not that I can’t win with a sword.” 

The King found the swift talking of the spectacled man rather cute, in some regards. George always had something to say.. or more like two, three, four things to say. Perhaps he feared that he’d forget all of the things if he didn’t verbally pronounce them.

“Sure do.” he chuckled, drawing the vibrant blade from its sheath.

“You’re so sad, George, making me use a sword.”

It was also unfortunate that there were no shields to be used this duel, though the square slab of metal and wood still rested upon his back lest a threat arise in the Kingdom. 

In a few quick steps, he paced back to begin circling around George, slowly and casually... like some sort of Guardian or shark. The spectacled man had been browsing through his inventory before Dream had began, but he looked up at a small sound from the King.

“Oh, is this how we’re starting?” he hummed amusedly, drawing his own shimmering diamond blade. Though its violet waves were not as lustrous as Dream’s, the King had no doubt that there were painful enchantments placed upon the edge.

His mask glinted bright as the sun caught it, dancing across the simple features like a pebble across crystal waters. Dream spun his sword in a hand, smirking visibly, before finally beginning to advance upon the advisor.

George skittered away almost instantly; not dissimilar to the Manhunts, though Dream had no intent to be the Hunter in those games. Their gazes interlocked, pale ceramic eyes meeting vibrant brown hues... and then the predator pounced.

Dream’s blade connected with George’s, who had remembered to bring his own up in time. The overwhelming strength of the ruler was almost immediately too much for his opponent, so with a less-than-nimble flick of the blade he leapt backwards.

Again, their swords’ edges met with a loud clang, but this time George decided something different was imminent. He pulled backwards, away from the master duelist, before suddenly rushing forward again.

It was indeed lucky that the King always wore a set of iron armour at least to protect his fabric clothing, for George’s strike almost made direct contact with his shoulder. He smiled, a little wider, his pearly whites flashing in a sudden gleam.

“Hey, Dream?” George questioned as he began to circle the hooded figure, readying his own blows. The ruler raised a brow behind his mask, replying with only a simple tilt of the head. “You know how I’m really charming?” 

“No,” came the masked figure’s response, “but please continue.”

Those doe-brown eyes flicked upward, rolling to heaven, before a light sigh escaped his mouth like the sweet summer wind. “I was patrolling.. or rather walking through the village earlier.” he began, wheeling his sword and stepping closer. “There was this guy up ahead, at a market stall, buying something. He looked like he’d just woken up.”

There was a small ting as the tips of their blades clacked together, conjuring a metallic noise. “But he had the nicest hair. Like... you know? It was kind of ... messy, but also really pretty. And he had hazel eyes.” 

“Why are you telling me this? That’s kind of gay, George. Did you say no homo?” Dream responded, drawing closer to his opponent. There was a strain of uncertainty in his voice. Why was his friend telling him this? Was it a ploy, or a shameless flirt in the morning?

Behind the glasses, George’s eyes sparkled with exasperation. “No.” he sighed dismissively. There was an element of finality creeping up upon this topic of speech, the King could tell.

The advisor swung forth his sword, making contact with his friend’s, and straining to keep it there. Their faces drew ever closer, and the King could make out a small bead of sweat forming upon the other male’s alabaster forehead.

George raised his left eyebrow, though any watcher could tell he was running out of strength and stamina.

“Do you ever look at a guy, Dream,” he murmured softly, “and find him really attractive?”

There was a false, knife’s edge moment of silence, where Dream faltered. He could feel his opponent’s silent but warm breaths casting upon his own features, and that was too close for comfort. “Wh...” he began casually and lazily, trying to disguise the confusion in his wavering tone, the prospect of this duel escaping his mind for a moment...

In that second, the advisor took the advantage dangling before him like a pig and a carrot. His blade slipped under Dream’s and flicked it away to make contact with his chest, and he swung about to position just beside the King. The ruler hasted to swing his sword back around again, catching George a little off guard, but there was more downfall for the larger male.

Due to the uneven positioning and the strange waver in his limbs, Dream stumbled over an inconvenient dune of sand that just so happened to not be there upon second glance. George’s shimmering blade whipped back around to surprise him with a small whack to the torso, which in most combat cases would do some damage...

Another pale silent breath, in which the darkly spectacled man held the tip of the sword to his best friend’s chest. Dream’s eyes flickered down to his vulnerability, before back up at the advisor.

“Epic.” said the King, finding that the only thing fit to utter, and also smartly referencing his dream.

He noticed that the more petite man was quivering a little, perhaps in his excitement to win. Dream’s entire body was flooded with nerves, moreso, and fading adrenaline. He didn’t really want to tell George about his vision now that that encounter had occurred.

George tilted his blade away, digging its point into the sand. “Sorry about that.” he hummed, his cheeks not dissimilar to the rich shade of a ripened tomato. “Got a bit caught up in the moment, I guess.”

He sheathed the sword, glancing towards the nearby exit. “You don’t have to tell me about your dream, I was really... really only joking.” the advisor reasoned quietly.

The masked ruler wasn’t very surprised. His friend became flustered and reddening rather quickly, even in scenarios such as these. Even Dream had faltered himself, just a little. “Um...” he began. “Okay. I mean, I could tell you anyway, you beat me on my terms.”

“Sure.” George replied awkwardly, nodding his head up and down a few times.

 _Oh, lord._ his thoughts generated, but Dream was now determined to tease his already struggling friend further. “Okay, um, so... it was... like, a game of Manhunt. But I was the Hunter. Sapnap, Bad and Ant weren’t there. It was... just us.”

A noncommittal ‘mm’ resounded from the shorter man.

“Yeah, and...” the King continued, remembering that the sword was still in his hand and poised in a strange position, and lowering it, “and we were running through a super nice forest. The moon was out, lighting everything up, and then we got to the plains. Because you’re trash at survival, I got you and ... hit you a bit with my sword. And then .. you died.”

Straying from the truth a little never hurt anybody, right?

George looked very pleased and relieved with this marvellous outcome. One of his pale hands rose to wipe a sheen of sweat from his brow. “How... nice! I wish I had dreams as exciting as that.” he laughed, his voice still wavering and dipping.

“Yeah.” Dream agreed, not knowing what else to say after that bout of tension.

They watched each other for a moment, George’s gaze being the first to drop, before the smaller man cleared his throat. “Nice! Well, I will be off then, to... my room. You fought well!” 

Dream wasn’t experienced with understanding and consoling emotion, but he was a master in knowing them, and he could sense the panic and tautness in the advisor’s tenor voice. “Bye, um, you fought well too?” he answered, a hint of a query tugging at his tone... but then his friend was gone, speed walking away to moon knows where.

He stood there for a moment, registering what had just happened. Well, seems pretty irregular! It wasn’t every day when the other man acted so strange. What had been with that market story? Okay, George, being homosexual wasn’t a crime.

But it was kind of cute, observing his flush and awkward demeanour. Though still odd.


	4. hallows eve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george pov . this’ll be the only time I explicitly state it because I don’t like doing it, so y’all gotta figure it out through the literature !
> 
> george ponders his existence .
> 
> TW !!
> 
> self harm

He’d been sitting in this room for some time, rocking back and forth, hands wrapped around himself. Just there, him and himself, hugging his legs to his chest and wallowing in utter misery.

There were a lot of emotions strewn throughout the man’s body right now. First and foremost- embarrassment! Of course he’d be ashamed and embarrassed of what had just happened, who wouldn’t? 

It wasn’t like he was going to hide it forever. It had been just over a year that they’d arrived in the archipelago that was the Dream SMP, and that was a lot of time for things to develop. One sided or not. George had hinted, and Dream hadn’t taken it. He hadn’t understood.

Of course he wouldn’t understand. George knew that his best friend was so so busy with a lot of things. He felt really immature, trying to bother the King with his own stupid struggles and his own stupid cravings. He felt touch-starved sometimes, though. Sometimes he would just do what he was doing now for whole mornings, rocking back and forth and- and pondering what to do. Feeling the fabric of his own soft dull clothing, and .. wishing it was the lime green of Dream’s.

Who wouldn’t fall for the King, though? He had everything. He had power, agility, intelligence, humour, and a set of personality traits that were ever so captivating. 

It had been almost an _entire year_ of developing those strange feelings. Developing those pains that tugged at his heartstrings, gnawed at his throat, spun nerves in his stomach. He mostly just released those feelings by messing around with Dream, telling borderline jokes and being as honest as he could without ruining everything they had.

“He doesn’t have any interest in me.” the advisor told the pillows around him quietly. 

That particular day had been weird. George had never had the courage to drop even a single hint past their bromantic border. He knew that Dream probably preferred it if they were just good friends. Every time Dream told him ‘I love you, George’- that was all a lie, and a joke, and a thing of amusement.

Though he still enjoyed it when the masked ruler said it.

“I can’t feel this way.” he finally decided, his voice breaking the tense silence, louder than before. He winced at the sound of his own voice, hearing those high-pitched decibels, reminded of many things. 

George had heard of these things that a person did whenever they needed to get rid of emotions, release anger or pain or something within them. Procuring scissors, a knife, a sword.. anything sharp enough to make incisions in flesh, or marks at all. Striping arms, legs, torsos. He’d never tried it himself, but sometimes he considered it. Did it really help? 

He wasn’t the biggest fan of pain at all- but if this sort of thing released internal pain..? That was a lot more important.

Finding the use of speed to be best, he drew the sword that he’d used in the duel. His fingers lifted to caress the sharp point of the blade... that tip had defeated Dream in a battle. There was something special about this weapon.

Holding the hilt carefully, he trembled as he lay the edge upon his left arm. This was for him. For Dream. Everything would be so, so, SO much better if he just got rid of those stupid shitty feelings. Everything would be so much better if he could just remove it, purge it in the form of these cuts.

He set his brows together and drew his hand back, causing the sword to slice a neat straight line across the surface of his pale, untanned flesh. Obviously he wasn’t aiming to draw blood, just leave... marks. Something like a reminder that he needed to not continue with what he was feeling. To stop.

There wasn’t a lot of physical pain in the process, actually, it was rather occupying. His mind felt a little at ease. Almost therapeutic. Just lithe, bloom-red lines like a ladder marching across his arms. 

_How am I going to hide these?_ a part of him wondered, but that was easily resolved with, _I’ll just get a hoodie or a long-sleeved top. Nobody is going to find out. This is a me process. Nobody should know anyway._

There were around eight marks once he finished thinking, and then that seemed enough to him. With a gentle sigh, he placed the sword upon the sheets of the white bed, slid off the covers, and rose to his feet. 

With only a small peek through the crack in the curtains, he could recognise the dusky eve. The glimmer of a fading sun caught the rims of those fresh pink reminders, new and young. Was it time to have dinner in the dining hall? 

Another glance at the clock upon his bedside table told him yes. However, George really wasn’t in the mood to look Dream in the ceramic spotted eyes again today. Maybe he should just have an early night, retire to the bed, hope the cuts evenly heal a bit so he wouldn’t have to wear a big hoodie. It might be warm tomorrow.

With a shaky sigh, he grasped the other sleeve of his short-sleeved shirt and pulled, allowing him to slip an arm through. A hiss of pain escaped him suddenly as the fabric grazed those markings, somehow suddenly so sensitive to everything.

He peeled the shirt off of his lithe form, subconsciously turning so he didn’t meet the eyes of the unforgiving mirror upon his wardrobe. The blue material was discarded to the side, but his eyes flickered towards the roof.

George had a habit of not looking at himself lest he was reminded of... well, himself. The darker material hugged his chest tightly, supported him at the best of times, but was not permanent solace. It was still a reminder of the past- and definitely not one that would benefit him.

More things wrong with himself.

Heaving a low, forlorn sigh, he removed his temporary comfort and robed himself in silken white clothes, smoothing them around himself. No point in wearing nice clothing if it was flappy and loose.

The bed’s azure covers clustered over him was nice, though. He tried to relax, to fall into sleep’s quiet void. He tried not to think about those things he’d said, or done, in the day. He tried not to envision the soft embrace of blanket as arms, hugging him tight, uncaring of what was under the clothes.

He would never have that... not any time soon, anyway.


	5. naught awakening

There was a sun hanging in the sky like a pinecone upon a tree, shining happily and brightly upon the houses below its majesty. Suns regularly radiated warmth, waves of heat that flowed across clothing and flesh and ignited a fire in the soul.

As he lifted a pale hand to the air, he could feel nothing.

He could register the sounds of children laughing and playing, rushing about through the cobbled streets and alleyways. The mumble of conversation, underneath red covers to protect from the rays of light. There were so many noises around the zenith of midday, though he had never bothered to listen into them.

This must be some sort of dream, George decided. The real sun was warm, and this sun wasn’t. And how did he get here anyway?

He began to walk forth, his footsteps awkwardly loud upon the stone streets. Something was really odd, he could detect it within the air. Whenever he had dreams... they usually turned out pretty badly. He didn’t remember them now, but there was always dread whenever he woke from a nightmare in pitch black.

A picturesque sight indeed, a village from a fairytale, with oak trees swaying back and forth. There were beautiful flowers of all colours springing up from the grass. If this was a nightmare, it was an awfully pleasant one- at least to begin with.

So far, nothing was wrong, though George felt himself take an instinctive turn to the left. He ventured down the street, warm brown oak houses looking comfy and homely as he passed. The stalls thinned out, the structures to his sides becoming more residential and less marketing.

Now this was familiar. But he couldn’t place why. Was it the cheerful castle blinking at him from atop the pristine lake nearby? Was it the throng of inhabitants milling past, their faces identifiable with a sighting in the past, but not a name? 

The advisor found himself wandering through the streets again, leaning mostly to the left side of the lane. It was almost like a bout of clairvoyance had struck him as soon as he looked up, laying his eyes upon a particular market stall.

There was the same man he’d hinted to Dream about, poring over the many gemstones the seller was peddling. His intense hazel eyes were focused upon the droplets of tiger’s eye, carnelian, even the rare and prized emerald. Gold rimmed some of the jewels, possibly to loop through necklaces?

Though George found himself standing before the stall, the male who had piqued his interest to the right of him, something felt terribly wrong.

He tipped his head up to observe the other again, with his oak-coloured hair and dimmed ginger hues, expecting to see those lovely things- but the blank face of a white mask only stared back. Round black eyes and a too-wide smile. He’d never realised just how unnerving the King’s mask was.

George opened his mouth to speak, but his tongue could not grasp the concept of words, and nothing was emitted. He flinched backwards from this sudden strange sight, that soulless smile only reminding him of how he’d screwed up their encounter. There could’ve been some serious chemistry, some serious development of their already blooming friendship, but as usual... he screwed it up.

The hooded and masked figure seemed to loom over him- even more than he usually did. Dream stood at a crippling six foot three, which made George (at a measly five foot nine) a dwarf in comparison. Nevertheless, it was as if everybody around had suddenly fallen out of focus, and it was just the two.

Those unblinking, empty eyes were ever so piercing.

The ground underneath his feet was an odd feeling, and the spectacled man felt weightless whenever he laid eyes upon this mystery invader of dreams. Not weightless in a good way, the way he felt whenever real Dream spoke to him... but weightless as in vulnerable. Floating helplessly, unable to speak or act.

Vision Dream extended a navy-gloved hand slowly, and it was as if something clicked inside George. He stepped backward unevenly, stumbling a pace over the suddenly barricading cobbles, getting away from this phantom. 

The man turned on his heel, showed his back to the other, and that may have been his worst mistake. For one did not turn their back upon a Hunter without him giving chase. There was an instant, a pristine moment, that George was going to head back into this dream village and pretend that never happened ...

until the same hand grasped onto his right wrist (thankfully). Tightly.

George gasped, a sound of shock that seemed hollow. The feeling of rough navy blue glove upon his smooth alabaster wrist was not a sensation he liked very much- usually it would’ve been rather welcome, almost. But this was scary, and intimidating, and even though he knew full well that it was a dream? He was still so very terrified.

He froze like prey within a predator’s hungry slavering grasp, the claws of the beast himself circled around his arm. He could feel his heart tearing at his chest, beating a steady loud rhythm against his ribs. He could have sworn he could feel a tease of hot breath, ever so close to him, not exciting but more fear-instilling.

...

The hand upon his arm began to feel very uncomfortable.

It was like burning. A sensation that was hot, burning even, but also ramping up in intensity. His skin began to redden, but he could not move. He could not run. He was the victim of this Hunter, a comprised being of his own misery and guilt and sin, though it was possibly just his own self-pity too.

The silence of this nightmare was the thing that made it the most terrifying.

There were no screams of anguish and pain, no pleads for help, no dark deep words of relish and cruelty. It was just him, his racing heart, and the devil. Alone. No sound to rely on, not even a hint of his own voice, nor anybody else’s.

Alone.

How so very familiar.

He shut his eyes, the only motion he could really make, blocking everything out. The burning hand upon his arm began to fade, like everything else. It was just him, his racing heart, and the devil. And even the apparition was gone.

The void opened up beneath his closed eyelids, so inviting and warm and comforting. The absence of everybody else was returning, back from nothingness, to reclaim him. Its phantasmagorical arms reached out to embrace the poor man, pull him into a dark cocoon forever...

so he went along with it. 

—

Now that was a sight for sore eyes.

Eyes, green as spring leaves, rested upon the shaking form of the young man. He was wrapped within a hallow shroud of cyan, though that was hardly a disguise for the erratic trembling motions of the advisor. Obviously, he was sound asleep... well, the male wasn’t so sure about sound.

He had never really experienced or seen these kinds of things. Anxiety nightmares, they called them. Things of worry and panic and stress, so one might quiver and quake in their ephemeral dreamscape. 

Dream had wanted to apologise for his behaviour in the arena, though he was 80% sure that it hadn’t been his problem. Well, now that he’d thought about it, not really apologise... moreso check upon the spectacled man. George really had been acting strange. Not just this fateful day, he could connect some behaviours to those weeks past.

Was his friend doing alright?

He was well aware that it was near about midnight, but usually the inhabitants of the palace did not sleep until later times. Dream often found one of his knights and trusted confidants, Sapnap, awake at irregular times of the early morning. A potential successor, Eret, working deep into the midnight hours. Servants, cleaning up after the many users of this great castle, always late to bed- but paid their due.

For a being like George, Dream would have suspected that he would shut his eyes after midnight. The other man was prone to worrying a lot, pondering his fates at late night, and if Dream had come to comfort the poor male at a night hour? That would just have increased the nocturnal beauty of the moment... the moon perhaps glowing upon them whilst he listened to whatever his friend had to say to him.

But none of that would happen, as the advisor was out like a log, but also jumping and quivering like a nervous frog. 

_Should I wake him up?_ a part of him wondered, unsure of what to do in these circumstances. _Is he okay? Well, you probably don’t know until you wake him up, so you might as well do that.._

He could only grasp strange feverish murmurs from the entangled man, trapped within his nightmares. Things of sadness, an alone sort of vibe to his words, babblings of a void that would be a better place.

The King decided that he wouldn’t let his friend suffer any longer- plus, watching somebody sleep was very creepy, and he didn’t really want to keep doing it lest somebody caught him in the act. Gosh, wouldn’t that look so strange?

He extended a hand, not gloved in navy, but uncovered and pale in the unbridled light of Selene. The curtains were open, allowing the moon’s power to glimmer through freely. His fingers played across the air for a moment, just above the sleeping man’s blanketed body, before he firmly tapped George on the shoulder.

Like a firework, the advisor bolted up, quivering as if many tremors had just gone through his body. Low pants escaped his maw, breaths of tense power. His hair was dishevelled, wild, and so was the light within his usually-innocent dark brown eyes.

Dream’s ceramic gaze was the first thing for the advisor to see, and he bit back a scream.

The King could tell there was really something wrong, but it obviously wasn’t his place to pry, and so he just stood there and stared whilst George recomposed himself.

“U-Uh... good evening, D-Dream!” he uttered, his tone falsely peppy. The ruler canted his head to the side in surprise. Why would he bother pretending? That must’ve been a really damaging dream.

“Are you okay?” he questioned pointedly, withdrawing his hand back to his side. “I saw you weren’t having the best of times.”

The look George gave him was so full of panic and fear, that Dream himself was properly shocked. Without his glasses, the man’s optic expressions were rather visible, and the King had never seen such fear before in the eyes of his friend.

He did not receive a reply, not to his surprise, though the concern did rise a notch.

 _What to do,_ he mused to himself, having an internal battle of emotions himself. 

“Would you like a glass of-” he began, intending to offer a fine cup of water, but George interrupted him with a voice so shaky it was hard to understand. 

“Dream, could I please have a hug?” the advisor murmured, the thick bedsheets appearing to dwarf him, as he suddenly seemed so small and vulnerable. Anybody could detect the sudden desperation, that strange emotion, coming off the young man in ripples. Waves, even.

The King was not in the place to refuse, nor would he have refused under any circumstances. A hug was a hug, and he enjoyed having smaller arms encircle- or attempt to encircle- his own torso.

It appeared to be much a one-sided hug however, as George was clearly not fit to return the favour. Dream was however completely fine leaning over, wrapping his own muscular limbs around the curled-up man, and merely holding them both there for a few minutes. 

He’d once heard some things from a seemingly wise man who wore a boar skull to conceal his own features. There were many kinds of love, according to the ancient civilisations so far away. There was _philia_ , the brotherly love. There was _eros_ , the intimate and romantic love. And then... there was _agape_ , in which Dream liked to consider a soulful love. Not intimate, not full of hungry snatches of many motions... just an entwining of souls, a moment like this, where one could rely on the other when they were vulnerable. This was their _agape_.

He could register tears leaking from the other man’s beautiful dark oak-coloured optics, though he only let them dampen his shoulder and stay there. There was no speech needed in a moment such as this.

And so they stayed like that for a while.

Together, not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> istg I write so much better when it’s past 11pm my gosh, I might make that my strict fanfic writing date, anyway here this is


	6. rising oblivions

A reclusive hazel tatter of a banner, tumbling across the ground like a stray leaf, was an unusual sight among the ever-so clean streets of the Dream Kingdom. Such were many things, all clustered among the steps and pavements; remnants of some old party from a long time ago.

A moment of gentle solitude, the once restless streets of this lane quiet in the early morning. There was not even a dove’s coo to be heard, nor hushed whispering in the dawn. 

But from afar, an approach beckoned, with soft leather boots and fine monochrome attire, only ever interrupted by surges of orange across its chest and head.

Behind them, a ragtag group of individuals; one with a cape of vibrant blues, purples and dark pinks, and another with an eerie eyeless shroud for a face, followed by a tall man with the dark expression of a boar’s skull.

Each one had their own quirks; the fellow with the cape was wearing tall black high heels as well as a neatly trimmed, peach-coloured dress with strawberries printed across, and a golden crown. The man with the dark hollow eyes rimmed with tones of green and gray also donned a golden and leather chestplate below his existing armour, as well as the second golden crown of this quartet upon his head. And, well, the man with the boar skull mask could only ever have the most regal of things.. a golden crown of his own, a royal red and white cape, and a trident upon his back.

In a way, the leading figure was the odd one out, as he possessed no such crown.

However, the apparel upon his head was a simple yet effective white headband; an insignia of fire printed across the ivory fabric.

The sound of rousing chattering rose above the bunch as they progressed through the streets, items within their hands. Pale green flags, jade-coloured patterns upon them, and fence posts- trapdoors, planks, banners and barrels and much more. All the content needed for a wonderful event.

The face of the leading knight rapidly brightened as he replied to his comrades with his own words, unusual amber eyes lighting up. A giggle escaped his lips, before they were in a large, open area. Cleared of all objects, the space was bare and barren, and almost hungry to be filled with flags and stalls and podiums.

“Here we are!” the knight told his companions, presumably royal due to their own attires, though it wasn’t for sure. “We’ve got all the time in the world to set up the most bomb festival ever!”

“Nah, we have a couple of days. Dream will have our heads if we don’t make this happen.” The figure in the dress spoke up, their features tilting a few degrees to the side as they observed the area. “But we can get this done, I’m sure.”

Presumably, the men with the creeper mask and the boar skull were not interested in this discussion, as they provided no responses of their own.

“What do you propose, Eret?” the white and black-clothed soldier offered. “Are we going for a... a regal setup? With extravagant flags and lanterns and flowers? Or... or a more subdued one, with gentle torches and stacks of lovely green melons? You’re close to Dream, after all, you’d probably know what he’d want.”

The individual with the boar skull snorted. “Sapnap, you’d know what our lovely King would want best, being a good friend of his.” he responded.

The knight, now identified as Sapnap, slitted his eyes mock-menacingly. “You are right! I have access to all the wonders and intelligence of the world,” came his jaunty reply, “because I am the best friend of the man himself!”

Eret placed two fingers upon her forehead, sighing melodramatically and moving around him to begin placing fence blocks. They were joined by the still-silent man with the creeper mask, who was already marking out places for potential stalls and seats.

Sapnap was not an individual who considered himself to be lazy, or a slacker, so he quickly turned around and followed their example with a hasty chuckle. The man with the ivory mask felt no such tug, however, and began to walk around the entire area, whistling some folk tune.

“Isn’t this great? A whole festival, just to celebrate a year of this place!” he crowed, extravagantly swinging his steps forward and allowing his vermillion cape to swish behind him. 

“A whole festival that you will not show _any_ prospect of violence in the vicinity of.” retorted Eret, their brows lifting to almost the roof of the sky.

“Eh, who can say.” the regal man yawned, his tone all casualty and somewhat detectable arrogance. “It’s not a festival without drama.”

Sapnap rolled his fiery eyes. “Techno, if you even want a festival to cause drama at, help would be appreciated,” he fired back amusedly, to the muted protests from Eret of _’Don’t encourage him!’_

The sun was already making its climb up the Everest of the sky, hastening its warm glow upon the roofs and leaves of the city. It was expected that in three more sunrises, the small building team would have this festival’s setup complete, though all four of them did feel a little smug at the fact that they’d especially been chosen to do so.

Even if it did mean harder work.

Whilst one of them, the man in the cape, was hard working away at a post for the flags, the presumed ‘Techno’ was lazily tumbling a few shining blue pebbles in one hand, a block of planks in the other. Sapnap’s order only seemed to register after a few more dozen seconds of thought, and only then did the boar-masked man get to work.

“You should totally talk more, Sam.” The voice of Eret’s charming tone broke the short silence of the quartet, his voice carrying to the male. Their prompt was only met by the dead, impassive eyes of the creeper guise, who lowered his head and continued to work.

The knight uttered a snort of amusement. “Don’t bother the man, he’s fine in silence.” he joked, before shutting up himself. Idle hands did the work of the devil, after all, and chatter unfocused him. 

This festival was certainly in progress, though, and they were all rather satisfied.

—

A fleeting figure, teasing at the edges of the shadows provided by timber roofs and woollen tent shades, moved through the village without a sound.

Its eyes of stark white, observant of the Kingdom and its majesty, its wonderful houses and many market stalls.

The Dream Kingdom’s borders and citizens held many things, not all truly physical; one in particular being a very beautiful eye for detail. Each house was similar, yet different- from the arrangement of flowers to the pattern of doormats, people here knew beauty.

Flowers of azure and poppy-red, accompanied by the lush red orbs and dark jade-coloured leaves of sweet berry bushes, were wonderful hanging gardens above a front door and beside the windows. Curtains of vibrant sunshine yellow and white, rippled through as if they’d been tie-dyed, only furthering the beauty of its residence. Windows of utterly pure glass, sometimes shot through with colour to create dyed glass artworks and paintings, most especially shown in churches and the occasional museum. 

There were spiralling staircases leading to tall stone towers, and stout oak houses that were more like halls than just humble abodes. If one looked hard enough, they might spot an ornate trapdoor in the ground next to an outside wall, which must have many delicacies and treasures underneath its cellar surface.

This majesty would only be boldened by the festival that would occur soon, leading more citizens to join the Kingdom, and thus expanding it with many more wonderful residences.

Though the figure that watched held no jealousy of this place, they did have some regret of their own. It would be so easy to just move into the Dream Kingdom- they were acquaintances of the top dog himself, and it was certain that they would be treated well.

The cool red-horned individual did recognise the potential in independence, however, and turned away from these places.

Even the outskirts of the town were magnificent, and the view upon this hill that they were now standing upon was great. The castle, only in the near distance, was within easy walking distance. It was easily recognisable, a carved thing of beauty from stone brick and lumber wood, a moat of glimmering water surrounding the rise it was perched upon.

The demon smiled, an irresistible expression of their love for this place. They had lived here in their early days, watched it grow, taken their leave once it became a full country with its government and many citizens. The count of people only rose by the day, and that was too much for some individuals.

Upon the hill, a sensation of somebody nearing overtook the darkly clad demon, and they looked about to spot the pale azure-clothed man jogging up to approach them.

No words had to be exchanged, really; a simple but affectionate meeting of the eyes was all. The man knew of his partner’s love for the village, and he too found it extraordinary, a wonderful sight to bestow hues upon in early day.

Tan fingers gently threaded through dark, but neatly clipped talons, and this outsider duo merely watched the sun rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow guess what there are more characters than George and Dream :OOO there are more ships than dreamnotfound :OOOOOOO can’t believe it 
> 
> on a serious note this chapter was devoted to introducing the other characters ! (sapnap as a knight, sam/eret/techno as other esteemed royals or such) also to establishing their personalities and identities - sapnap is a demiboy and eret is genderqueer sorry i don’t make the rules
> 
> this fanfiction is a dnf one yes but it’s not entirely that !! i love explaining things and this is my take on the dream kingdom’s world, at least in a medieval era, hope it makes some sense
> 
> sorry if the prompt seems a little abrupt though i just needed to make this chapter exist
> 
> \+ i’m a skephalo shipper big surprise


	7. aries

Steel blue skies like the cold edge of a sword, clouded with hazy silver mist and white dabbles across the air, like swathes of paint placed upon the canvas by a toddler.

The eye of the sun glared harshly across the world, the waves reflecting pale light, the trees consuming the glow hungrily. It danced across thatch houses, pebble paths, sliding up obsidian walls that reached for the clouds, their ugly black claws like thorns upon the land.

The Dream Kingdom was not the only nation within the extensive atlas.

These strange obsidian walls marring the land held a Kingdom within their grasp, cradled a massive empire within their arms. Their cruel extents held a Kingdom within their grasp, surveying the inhabitants with some amount of umbra abhor.

This place was significantly less friendly, with pale stone houses and dark-rimmed windows, twisted glass and ashen dust. The citizens were either cooped up inside their homes, rushing about, or heading somewhere at a leisurely pace. 

A spire towered from the centre of the land, like an iron rod from the ground. Made of stone brick and metal, it was imposing and horrifyingly dark.

Lanterns hung eerily from the entrance, unlit, but still swinging in the wind that wasn't there.

Entering the palace was not a particularly easy feat, as the drawbridge was tall. The palace guards were clothed in the same dark armour as most of the citizens, though some had shimmering helmets or chestplates.

The hall within was also extensively huge, its roofs tall and shadowed, whereas that of the Dream Kingdom was homely and light. And every hall had some sort of seat for its ruler; though this was more a throne.

A black onyx spiraling throne, its seat cushioned by only a red plush, maroon-coloured and not dissimilar to blood.

The seat was empty, though it would not stay that way for long. There were sounds of a raucous argument occurring, violent and hostile, and one could pick up a couple of sentences.

"You must-" A feminine voice, bright and bold and edged. Interjecting, a dark and deep masculine tone, or moreso of a shout than just an inside voice- "There are no musts, Niki. Leave my chambers _now_. I have no ti-"

Whatever was conspiring dissolved into an amalgamation of arguing, until the sound of a door slamming was very clear.

A figure stormed down the steps, dressed in a floury black baker's apron over a cool red-coloured shirt. Her black and pale blonde hair was tousled, disheveled even, but most of all? This beautiful woman's face was contorted into an expression of pure rage.

Radiant eyes reflected anger, and hatred, though also fear- as which came with most things. Niki's pale blue eyes shimmered with varying degrees of emotion, through panic and disorder and unevenly disguised irritation. No- not irritation. Fury. At its most raw.

Out the gaping door went the woman, her dark dress a whirling tempest of fabric. The guards barely took the time to look at her before the doors shut again in a thunderous growl, ceasing access to the palace.

The sound of dark muttering echoed through the halls, detectable if one were to crest the stairs and face the many passageways leading through this obsidian palace, intimidating in all its ugly glory. From behind a closed dark oak door, inlaid with golden squares, annoyance was being audibly voiced, and not quietly either. Even the most oblivious toddler could hear the dangerous note in the masculine’s voice.

Inside the room was a man of rather tall proportions, standing at about six feet and three inches, whereas the woman that had rushed down the stairs did not appear to be even six feet. It was a wonder how such an individual of small stature could face a menacing, ram-horned, dark-haired man with endless bounds of cruelty to match his endless bounds of power.

Dark eyes viewed the desk near the door, surface covered in papers and contracts and other deals yet to be signed. Talon-like fingernails tick-tacked against the drawer knob, thumb curved around the round surface of the object, before finally a sigh could be heard.

“Now I’ve an uprising to worry about.” the ram emperor growled to the empty space of the room around him, his free hand tilting up in a gesture, fingers splayed like a crow’s claws. “All because some of my citizens are too _pussy_ to live under a stronger rule.”

He swung about to sight the glass window, its view reflecting the vast Kingdom of his own- almost as large as the country that his dark brown eyes were set on.

Sure, he had the matters of his own nation. Sure, there were things to worry about. Niki, her bunch of followers and allies. His crops, already beginning to run low. His guards, already beginning to run away. His iron fist was perhaps more of a netherite fist, choking and unable to be broken, though as strong as the bedrock that cradled the world.

Schlatt had sworn to unify and solidify this screwed-up country. The people that had ruled before him knew nothing of its potential, and the ram hybrid aimed to bring its pure strength to light. L’Manberg, the city of lanterns and lights and peace? Forget that. This was Manberg, the nation of power and prosperity. Schlatt could see the other nations around bowing before him and his country. He could see this vision, clear and close and ever so reachable. 

One thing stood in the masculine’s way.

His barbed fingers clenched, his nails dug into his own hard flesh, whenever he thought of that other place. That repulsive state, pompous enough to call itself a Kingdom, ruled by a man with no face but enough skill in battle to make up for it.

And of course the King known as Dream would have more and more allies. Countless many. The man with a boar skull and a crown, ruler only of his own self, who could use a sword like a calligrapher could use a pen. The knight with fire upon his chest and confidence to match a young buck’s. The masculine who wore enough femininity to signify their defiance against gendered clothing. News of these so-called icons and heroes spread like wildfire. Even if Schlatt hated to admit it, he envied their prowess, with word or blade.

But were they really the paragons of diplomacy and nicety they appeared to be?

The ram emperor viewed them as utter and complete opposition. All their values clashed. While the Dream Kingdom was more spreading their beliefs slowly and weakly, Schlatt’s mighty empire of Manberg was drawing people in by the day! (Forcefully or not, it didn’t matter.) He could tell he had the strongest nation. In a war, Manberg would surely triumph!

Though there were the same figures that worried him, those that were reputedly the best fighters in all the atlas. The skulled individual from before, the one with those pointed canines. The man always shrouded in the guise of the green-toned calico monster.

And the masked King himself.

Schlatt was powerful. He knew this. He could wield an axe, a sword, even a crossbow if the need arose. He was good. Better than good, even, perhaps excellent. His citizens dared not to challenge him to a one versus one. They knew their place, and they knew that their emperor was a man who knew how to fight- how else would he have survived so many assassination attempts?

The guards couldn’t be around all the time.

Yet beings like Dream, the King, and Technoblade, the anarchist... they shared common goals. Eliminate oppositions. There were bonds formed in blood between such individuals. Schlatt knew that while he may have been excellent, those two and many allies of the duo were far better than that. Merely excellent would not serve their purposes.

Which was why no one versus one duel would ever take place between the ram hybrid and any of Dream’s cronies. No, Manberg essentially outnumbered the Dream Kingdom three to one. If they warred, then the sheer number of Schlatt’s troops would surely massacre those of Dream’s, even if they were better at combat.

But for what reason? People like Niki and Tubbo liked asking him that. Always wanting a reason, something that made sense for what he did. 

Fucking hell, Schlatt was the goddamn _president._ He could do whatever he wanted. Plus, an enemy wiped off the board was an enemy never to bother him again in his strange idea of conquest. Like an ebony bishop slipping within White’s enemy lines, Schlatt would forever extend his hungry grasp over this rich land.

He was UNSTOPPABLE! Nobody would dare challenge him and the allies of his own, his loyal guards and citizens. Quackity would always be by his side. Fundy. Ranboo. Tubbo, even, once he saw that his ruler meant business. Everybody would flock to his side. ‘I’m loyal to you, Schlatt, I’m part of your golden Kingdom!’ was what they would cry.

Even these premature thoughts made Schlatt’s lips curl into a savage grin, exposing sharpened canines of his own. 

“Soon they will.” the ram emperor reassured himself, stepping back from the drawer to peer out of the window again. To see his streets, his houses, his people.

His nation. His Manberg.

And soon to be his world.

—

Leucistic clouds, almost yellowed by the vibrant shimmer of that ambrosia sun, drifted lazily across the sky as if they were flocks of sheep. So peaceful and unaware and blissfully lucky.

For clouds did not have to arrange an entire festival, and clouds did not have to make sure everything went fine and dandy. Clouds didn’t have to parry wars. Clouds didn’t have to answer the raving citizens’ questions. 

Sometimes Dream found himself staring through the clear window and wishing he didn’t have all of these responsibilities weighing heavy upon his shoulders. Forever hiding behind a ceramic mask with a smile painted on. Forever hiding behind angled words and a diamond blade. Forever hiding behind a blank but grinning expression, feelings tangled like a small kitten with yarn.

So much going on lately.

The festival. George. His bonds with Sapnap. Techno. George. Eret. His kingdom. His enemies. The ever encroaching force of the ram from the south. George. Always George, in the end, the problem that would always matter the most.

Even if his kingdom was destroyed, laid waste to, burned to the very roots.. Dream would still have George. Which was both reassuring and terrifying; having his best friend by his side until the soon-coming day of his death. But was he a best friend? Or more?

Honestly, the masked King didn’t .. feel that much. His goals were set upon his Kingdom and his duties. There was no time to romance his advisor. Maybe his thoughts strayed to round timber goggles whenever he was idling, maybe that cheerful face was always tugging at his psyche.. but those were all unimportant, as much as he hated to deny them.

His elbows pressed against the surface of the table as he returned to the world of the living, leaving his thoughts behind in the dust. Work now, wonderings later. Maybe he should check up on his paperwork, or whatever his enlisted help were doing. Hopefully Sam could rein them in enough to get genuine work done.

Maybe he should check in with George.

 _Stop, oh my God,_ he told himself. _There’s NO TIME for this. Being King requires effort. You can’t sit around like some lovestruck maiden in a tower._

He sat up abruptly, his jaw setting in an expression of determination. George was a grown man. He could take care of himself, right? 

Right?

Two nights ago, where it had felt like hugging a fragile baby bird to his chest. And he still hadn’t truly checked up on his best friend again. Passing each other in the halls was hardly any help to the other man. Maybe he was struggling.

Yeah, maybe that would be a good idea, just seeing how everything was doing..

Not right now, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mega cringe i don’t have scheduled posting times so i’ll post whenever i feel like writing genuinely, good job that we’re on 400 hits though :O
> 
> we introduce mister jay schlatt because who doesn’t love the ram himself
> 
> plus a calloused reminder that THIS IS NOT WHOLELY DNF and that this is really a piece of literature formed on my take of the smp world, just with a large amount of dnf within


	8. gold lime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry im kind of letting this fanfic mull, soak in views for a bit, before i continue ^^
> 
> ALSO . nsfw implications ahead. they do not explicitly seriously make out or anything but you can use your imagination if you want ! they smooch, like all good men do one in a while <3
> 
> it’s 2am too

A tender fragility remained in the morning, gentle and yet so easily broken. A feeling of something that could not be shaken, like sweet morning dew on the grass of a hillside. 

Today was the day.

The nirvana, that thin glass surface holding back all those feelings, was already beginning to melt away with every centimetre of the rising sun. Helios climbed the surface of the sky like a cat, each step into the clouds causing Dream’s fists to clench deeper into the surface of the jeans’ fabric.

His elegant uniform, having replaced that lime hoodie, was now sat snug against his body. Pale green and gold, parts of white here and there, the Dream Kingdom’s symbolic colours. 

He would see too much of that today.

For sure, the festival would be fun, and people would love it, but every event held a risk. Anybody could sneak in. Wartime was high, tensions were high, and who knew how low Schlatt would stoop at this point?

The King looked small in his chair, his six foot body curled into a hunched and almost fearful position over the oaken table. His mottled blonde hair, wavy in all its dirty glory, was visibly muddled- hastily smoothed down into an excuse for a neat hairdo. The mask upon his face, covering so many things, but not his mouth curled into a grimace.

The chair rattled against the wooden planks, an odd scraping noise, startling even his ears as he stood. One palm returned to a spot upon the table, tickety-tapping across the hard surface, busying those trimmed nails and long musician’s fingers.

A haywire humming filled the room, off-key and certainly out of tune, as he suddenly began to pace about. His leather boots made contact with the ground heavily for once, darkly; one might even have described it as a stomping motion, so different from his usual catlike pace.

“Everything is okay.” he assured himself, stopping beside the closed spruce door. His ceramic mask’s gaze glowered at the floor. If looks could kill, those wooden planks would be a melted timber mess by now.

It was all moving too fast.

Deciding that he should get this over with, he opened the door and almost clocked the young man waiting outside in the face. 

Sapnap stumbled back, his face a mirror of Dream’s own- unexpecting.

“Sorry about that.” The King was the first to speak within seconds, stepping outside and shutting the door. The hairs at the back of his neck tingled, and he ran the same hand across them, awaiting the knight’s response.

The other man shook his head, their amber eyes filling with exasperation. “Just thought you might have wanted to be at the festival early. Before anybody’s come around. You know, get scripts ready for speeches or whatever you wanna do…” he explained.

Dream’s expression contorted in disbelief behind that false smile. “Are you suggesting I would be late?” he exclaimed indignantly, his words pointed though really only half serious. “I am always on time for everything! I always expect!”

“You are _shit_ at reacting to people in the range of your heavy door in time, that’s what.” Sapnap fired back, already beginning to turn around and leave.

The King merely forced a deep mock frown upon his face, watching the advisor leave, though very amused by the display. At least that had been enough to provide some… self-confidence? Was that a good word to describe it?

Morale. That was the one.

Whilst he was still on edge, an encounter with Sapnap was always a good morale booster.

—

His boots were quiet upon the smooth andesite steps, descending them at a rapid pace down the tower’s staircase. God, he wished that this place was smaller so he didn’t have to put so much effort into subtly rushing to his destination. 

The second row of rooms graced his eyes, doors for people that he trusted. Did they trust him back? Probably not.

The King flashed past those too, feeling the healthy jostle of his sword upon his back, tucked into the white sash-belt-whatever one wished to call it. Hopefully they’d all be at the festival, it would be such a shame if only commoners showed up…

The sound of bustling servants drew his attention away as he continued his speed walking through the palace. Sounds of ‘this platter, that platter’ and ‘no, we don’t want oily fish!’ were rather common, though Dream knew these were probably for the event. You didn’t need to be a deep thinker to decipher the real fun of a social event- the good food.

As such, Dream’s loss in his own deep thinking, was what resulted in an extremely unseemly yet hard collision with another figure. The King stumbled back, a yelp of confusion escaping his distracted mouth as he regained his balance.

The other was not so lucky, and the other happened to be the person he wished to see the least. Telltale spectacles lopsided across an alabaster face, pale wth nervousness and shock, generic blue shirt messy.

Though these qualities were ungainly, it was the fact that Dream had literally knocked the smaller man down upon the carpeted floor that made the King cringe, and it took him a full five seconds to actually offer a hand of assistance. Even then, it took the advisor a longer seven seconds to accept the help.

George’s lithe fingers were grasped within his own calloused digits, and he released his hold once the similarly aged man had regained his balance.

There was no speaking, only abrupt silence. Dream wasn’t in the mood to speak, and George looked too worried (or scared?) to.

No eye contact. Mostly from the masked man’s side.

The silence was broken with the sound of ‘Are you coming?’ from Dream’s fanged maw, and he peered at George curiously. Those comical glasses were hiding shifty dark brown eyes, he could see them flitting back and forth, the light reflecting off those optics spectacularly.

“To the festival, I mean.” he added, making sure that George had no excuse to play confused, or feign obliviousness.

George coughed, an almost wary noise. “Um- yeah.” he replied after the span of a few short moments, plucking up the bravery to raise his eyes to rest upon the looming ceramic mask.

“Perfect. Let’s get going.” Dream affirmed, pointing a figure towards the extensive hallway. He could see the shift in the advisor’s body language, flinch at the gesture, ever so scared and doubtful. Dream didn’t blame him. It was certainly an awkward situation, though all the King was really trying to do was fix it.

He was left hanging for a few more seconds, before a small defeated huff rose from the shy masculine’s lips, and that falsetto smile was forced back on. “Alright! Sure will be fun.” the response came, ever so peppy and cheery and _fake,_ for all Dream knew.

What if George actually didn’t want to come along and see the great accomplishment?

“I do hope so.” Dream responded, forcing himself to walk forward, one pace at a time. A second later and he could detect George’s smaller, more ‘submissive’ footsteps, tracking his and following his. 

He couldn’t blame himself, right? All the King wanted was his best friend, and other best friends beside him, as they revelled in their Kingdom’s great accomplishments! All Dream wanted was for those around him to appreciate and be appreciated by the things they’d done, which had led up to this mighty empire. 

George didn’t seem too hyped about it, which was a bit of a downer, but Dream really didn’t understand. Lately… it was like a wall had risen between them, ever since that fateful incident. Questioning oneself was a difficult period, of course, but Dream himself felt a little bit hurt by his best friend’s tenseness.

Tenseness around him.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t time for the negative vibes at all. None of that. It was time for a festival to make his citizens happy, like most world leaders would do, right?

He could almost see the shaky, uneven peaking lines of tension between them.

“George, are you nervous right now?” he uttered, his tone blunt and completely ignorant. He was… frankly, a little pissed, at his friend’s erratic behaviour. It was like they were twelve-year-old children in the playground, freaking out over eye contact. 

Though as soon as the words erupted from his own lips, an _Oh God_ flashed through his mind. He seemed to fumble for words then. Gosh, that sure was a creepy thing to say. Might as well pin him to a wall with a kitchen knife and stab him through the throat with a carving fork, huh?

Dark glasses glittered like tilted cat’s eyes as the other man barely turned to acknowledge he’d heard, having to tilt his head up a little due to Dream being over six foot and himself being under such amount.

He swore he might have seen a ripe cherry dusting of the cheeks, but those stupid clout glasses disguised whatever emotion was upon the alabaster-faced man.

“What do you mean, Dream?” the advisor replied calmly, turning his head back again to view the hallways in front of them. Sloping down, stone brick circular staircases.

The King adjusted his ceramic mask, one black-gloved hand coming up to tilt it slightly downwards. “For the event, … nimrod.” he shot back, deigning to use a Sapnap insult.

Well, that certainly had unravelled. 

As they descended the stairs, George was silent, and then about halfway down he made a barely audible ‘hmm’.   
“I suppose so.” the reply came.

Dream huffed an audibly irritated sigh, and he could’ve sworn that the smaller individual twitched as if there was an ice-coated snake crawling up his spine. He was sounding a bit ominous now, though.

“What’s gotten into you lately, huh?” he finally enquired, after yet another dozen seconds of silence. “You’re acting so weird. I mean, you’re weird anyway… so weird. Even just usually. But if I notice the weird, then it’s bound to be super odd..”

George irritably sighed back, but not a single being could ever hope to match the irked tone in Dream’s huffs. “I am _not_ acting weird. You’re the weird one.”

The masked King wheezed, air rapidly escaping from his lungs in a more amused huff. “Me? _I’m_ acting weird? You’re the guy that’s fucking- like- turning red all the time around me, and not talking to me, and waking up crying like a baby in the middle of the night!” he snapped. He didn’t know where all this sudden anger was coming from. Pent up inside him, he felt like he was opening floodgates.

The posture of the spectacled advisor rapidly stiffened. Dream felt the distance between them open up like a dragon’s hungry maw, a ravine through his chest like a crack in the sandy desert.

“Didn’t mean that.” he specified, but the damage was done, and he could tell George was either really pissed off… or moreso sad. The King knew which was more obvious.

He didn’t press it anymore, but the two later had a few more noticeable centimetres between them, even as they padded across the thin gravel paths.

—

Even in the early hours of the event, it had been popular. Children ran though the streets wearing wooden masks painted cream and black in a happy expression, chasing each other, waving wooden swords and wielding thin sheets of bark as shields.

The four he’d commissioned (or rather forcefully prompted) to create the estate had done really well. The stacked melons atop wagons nearby lime-coloured stalls, decorated with shop signs, accompanied by children’s amusement rides. Horses of all shades wandered around the fences they were tied to- palomino coats shifting restlessly within shades of bamboo green.

Grinning faces marred the flags set up all around, smiling pleasantly at the citizens dawdling within their confines.

Whereas the man himself was hidden in the shade of an alley, cursing the everloving living lights out of his best friend and knight. He hadn’t prepared a speech, no sir, and God knew he was dogwater at making something up on the spot. He always planned. The only quick instinctive things he ever did were things like MLGing off a cliff with a boat, or leaping atop white horses to escape great heights.

“Ah… beloved citizens of my country, I,... no, that’s too weird. Great citizens. What?” he exerted, his annoyance and panic probably ever so clean to any listeners. Where was George when you needed him? Oh, right, probably off sulking- and he wouldn’t bother helping anyway. 

He glared at the amber-eyed knight within the event confines, his finely sculpted brows creasing and knitting together.

“Wonderful people… wonderful _fucking_ citizens of the Dream Kingdom.” any housewives at home nearby would register, if they bothered to tune in.

Was it time? Probably. People were already beginning to crowd beneath a huge dark oak stage- his companions knew that he liked the beautiful wood. That didn’t help. This was so stupid.

“Fuck this. Fuck it all.” the King finally grumped exasperatedly, before picking himself up from his leaning position against the cobble wall, and dusting himself off. Gotta look good, right, even if it was just regular iron armour upon a pale lime shroud.

He strode from his hiding spot within the shadows, striding from the hidden area to the entrance of the place. The bloody main entrance. People passing by immediately parted to let the tall figure through; gasps awaited his ears, accompanied by adoring murmurs. That was stupid. He couldn’t even maintain friendships, let alone maintain a country well enough.

He forced a smile onto his exposed maw, tipping his head up, and a few people begun to clap. What the hell? He wasn’t even on stage yet. 

Just up the stairs, no hands on the rails, that made you look weak. Shoo Sapnap off the stage, maybe he’d been talking before, probably telling bad comedy to stall for his King’s entrance.

The crowd was filled with members of all ages. Elderly women and men together, mothers with their young children, usually loud and boisterous… but now quiet and awed. Teenagers, dark-eyed and sallow-cheeked, gazing up at him as if he were their messiah… which he was, in a way.

“Uh…” the ruler began, which was evidently not a good way to start a royal speech. So he patched himself up, continuing with a few sculpted words. “Good morning, wonderful citizens of the Dream Kingdom. I hope you’re all having a fantastic day so far!”

Instant success. Adoring ladies in the crowd swooned, waved, screamed ‘yes’ back. For sure. He wasn’t fucking up, good.

“Yeah?” he hummed in response to the agreeing citizens. “Well, I’m happy about that. After all, what would a festival be without something to cheer up its inhabitants? … Maybe you’ve found a good book, a pot plant, or a new friend.”

They were absolutely enthralled by the bullshit he was spewing in an attempt to sound good.

Dream’s verde eyes glimmered behind the expression of a smile, scanning the crowd for that familiar face guaranteeing him confidence, but continued to speak. “Though even if that’s a wonderful thing, there’s much more to be had! As some may know… it is the anniversary of our beautiful civilisation- one year of the glorious Dream Kingdom!”

He raised a hand at this, hoping that would work, and it did. The citizens went wild, raising their lithe hands and jumping and cheering agreements. He could almost feel Sapnap rolling his amber eyes.

“Whereas a Kingdom like this is expansive, mighty and somewhat tough to lead… I couldn’t be prouder of our lovely achievements. The palace, the museums, the… the multitudes of bakeries and restaurants, huh?” Light, half humour, enough to make a polite crowd giggle.

The King paused for effect, taking in a couple of late cackles, before moving on. “It’s definitely been a wild ride. We’ve made things. We’ve lost things.” Yet again, eyes swivelling about to find a familiar form. “But in the end, we’re gaining, slowly but surely.”

“For this is a youthful civilisation! We can achieve great things! We’re bold and young, like… like a tulip in spring!” Yet again, public seemed to like that one, even though he didn’t. “All things go through hell to become mighty, right?”

From behind, the quiet sound of his friends discussing his words, barely audible above the murmur of adoring citizens.

“But I certainly couldn’t have done it without you all.” Dream pressed onwards, deciding it was better to end it sooner than later. “Without my citizens, my friends, my family, and all of the people loyal to the Dream Kingdom!” A rousing rumble of agreement travelled through the crowd, reaching his ears and placing a genuine smile upon his face.

“Everybody in my life has done so much, all to build up this wonderful place where anybody can become a real warrior. A baker. A musician, a florist, even a frog breeder if you wanted that! It’s so great to see how far we’ve all come! It’s awesome to reflect on myself, too, and the choices I’ve made with my advisors next to me. They’re … they’re _my_ best friends, the people that boost me onwards, and I couldn’t have done anything without them! They’re the people that want me to succeed more than anybody else! It’s people like them, people who really want the best for their country and the individuals around them- they’re the ones that _will_ get somewhere!”

Did he just project his conflicted mind onto a speech? Did he just- was he that insecure that he needed to tell himself his advisors _were_ his best friends? That George was still an object of his affection? (Friendly affection, of course.)

The crowd went absolutely wild at his display of frantic words, spoken straight from the heart like an amalgamated brainchild of things and broken thoughts. They cheered, howled love notes and happiness and things like ‘I have flowers for you, Dream!’

“It’s a great country, but I wouldn’t have done it without your help. So go and find people that will help in your life! Don’t get it wrong.” he assured, provoking more half laughter from this dry-as-a-desert crowd.

Again, pause, but a bit longer. Crowds often cheered for a bit. 

The King couldn’t help but grin a bit more, though. “And that’s my closing note. Find people around you that can boost you in your own world-changing journey! It’s not so hard.” He swung about a bit, taking a step to the right and making a hand gesture. “With that, I bid you a good day!”

—

Oh, finally, he couldn’t wait to get off the stage. The last ten seconds, standing there, waving and returning the cheers and happy stares of his citizens. Only after that time did he turn and stride off stage, much to the crowd’s dismay, though they still cheered like mad.

He could hear Sapnap announcing “Well, after the news from our beloved King Dream…” and internally groaned. Beloved? Well, that wasn’t not true.

Where the everloving fuck was his other advisor, though? He couldn’t keep distracting himself with thoughts of other topics forever. George had completely dipped as soon as they’d reached sight of the festival- maybe he’d gone back to his room.

The trees thinned out a little as he headed in a large loop back towards the village, mostly empty due to such festival, and the feeling of regular oak planks beneath his booted feet wasn’t comforting in the slightest.

The King could’ve sworn he heard his name, all of a sudden, in the back of his mind. He turned around once, wondering if he was just hearing things, until a form popped out from behind oak and cobble buildings.

“George?!” he exclaimed, his brows tilting upwards. “What’re you doing here? Aren’t you meant to be at the… the, uh, the festival?”

The other man looked utterly shocked that he’d been caught in this weird rodent act of his. “Nooooo…” he drawled, though his tone was completely uncertain and very unconvincing. “I was going back to my room.”

“You’re such an antisocial prick.” the King fired, at which the advisor straightened up indignantly and narrowed his umber gaze.

A bout of continuous silence fell between them again, until the virgin quiet was shattered (eventually) by George.

“I was going back to my room.” he repeated. “I don’t like… parties. Or whatever that was. Some sort of… weird party.”

 _Maybe my thing made him feel guilty._ Dream thought to himself, wondering if the words had humbled his friend. “Well, that sure is unfortunate.”

Another weird, out-of-place silence, which the King was getting pretty used to by now. His green eyes flickered from the wooden path up to George’s, and though the shorter figure couldn’t see his real eyes, the sight of ceramic paints glaring at you was unnerving, and then some.

“I liked your speech, though.” 

Bingo. Well, not intentionally, his brain had just figured ‘Well, I might as well unintentionally guilt trip my friend, but also get rid of negative feelings in my storage.’

“Thanks.” Dream hummed, shrugging a bit, though his skin was prickling under the armoured fabric.

George huffed a small breath of air, exhaling through his nose quietly. It was even more tense than the feeling of a big cat stalking you, golden eyes trained on your back, and Dream didn’t feel that nervous often. 

“Did you actually mean anything you said?” he finally asked, his voice toned down, soft as duck down. 

The ruler hesitated, his stance unevenly flickering for a moment, from confident and bold to unsuspecting. That was a surprise, even though he’d almost been expecting it.

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t say something untrue in front of so many people, and it’s… I would never say something like that if it wasn’t true.” he reasoned, just trying to reassure himself. It was all okay, everything was okay.

The house was empty, thankfully, so nobody could see the intense encounter between the two masculines upon this wooden path. Dream was thankful for that.

“I know I’ve been acting a bit strange lately.” the advisor suddenly sighed, catching Dream off guard even more. “I’m… sorry about that. It’s odd.”

“That’s okay,” the King said immediately, quick to reassure his friend so that their friendship would repair itself from shatters upon the icy ground, “you’re okay.”

Not that, though, that was just weird, ‘you’re okay’? Of course he was okay. Saying that just- it just made him sound so weird. Like he… like, really really cared or something like that.

George’s eyes evidently shifted to look down. Maybe that was just… super weird.

“I’m… glad that you think that.” the spectacled man eventually answered, his tone quivering like a beetle upon a blade of grass within a raging storm. He was trying to disguise something, Dream could tell.

As he did when he usually didn’t know how to reply, he stayed quiet, shuffling his tall booted feet a little, dislodging clumps of shaved wood from the ground. George seemed to like that idea, doing the same, completely silent.

…

“Dream, uh…” Until then. Of course he’d never be the first to speak.

The ruler tilted his head up as if he were breaking out of a trance, a small ‘Huh?’ accompanying his sudden movement. He’d never realised he was so close to the smaller figure, probably a result of George approaching to wake him up from his weird daydreams of silence.

Again, the other man could never make eye contact. Those broad-rimmed glasses tilted to the side as if he were a shy dame, approaching her first love.

“Yeah?” he uttered, realising he’d forgotten to verbalise. This was weird. They were about two and a half feet away from each other, George having not backed up or anything, and Dream liked to keep a three feet bubble.

“Look. Move your mask a bit… to see. There’s a bug.” the advisor told him shakily, tone almost set to a gentle whisper. Dream’s brain, wired to notice things, had never registered any bug in the area. He tilted the mask up, back over his nose, not exposing anything disastrous, but looked down anyway.

When he felt the surreal embrace of rosé lips, gentle doves’ wings against his own, he was surprisingly unsurprised. He hadn’t planned for it, but he wasn’t shocked out of his mind by it. But what _did_ shock him out of his mind was how his body, all the muscles in his body, responded to it.

It was like a lightning bolt travelling from his lips through his body, electrifying his veins and brain and limbs, something strange and alien melting into his system. He knew the taste of lips oh so well, he’d kissed many a fine lady before- but never a man. And never a man with a maw as gentle as this.

He returned the favour, finding it not so unpleasant, tilting his head to make better ease. What set him on edge was the surprised murmur that the spectacled advisor made at his motion, unsuspecting of this, and now subsequently moving back.

Well, moreso stumbling back. And it was good that Dream whipped a hand out just in time to cradle the back of the other masculine’s head, somehow so delicate and yet more passionate than anything he might’ve ever felt before, because they were suddenly with George’s back to the wall of said empty house from before. A rock and a hard place, really.

A small grunt occurred from the brunette’s maw as this action happened, both surprised and satisfied even. Their other hands bumped, instinctively entangling fingertips in some fluid motion, which only intensified their embrace, growing in sensitivity and emotion.

Green eyes shut the entire time, only enjoying this sudden moment that he did not expect, some blind memory only followed by sound. Yet brown eyes were merely half-lidded, almost shut, but still watching. 

George smelt surprisingly good. Like cinnamon and apple tarts, and playing in the streets of the bakery nearby with friends, and happiness while baking scones with your mother before presenting proud creations to your father, and roses and scotch and mallows and daisy fields, rolling on forever. And- and, well, Dream had never really had the chance, but the feeling of that gentle ivory skin up close was so fucking _tantalising_. 

He pressed against the other masculine, his teeth making contact with the other’s peach lower lip, and tugging gently. He swore he could feel ichor coursing through his body, or something like that, because he’d never felt so much heaven.

A wishful yet guttural whine, almost primal, something he’d rarely ever heard, was uttered from the male’s throat as said action occurred. Dream didn’t pause long, a mere second or so, to check if the other was alright, but he knew from past experience that… usually meant good things.

“Could you do that again—” the advisor breathed huskily, his sweet breath warm upon the blonde’s maw as he obliged with only the smallest of hums. His fingers crept down to trace the sharp jawline of his friend, his calloused thumb making progress upon the lightly freckled ivory skin.

His hand, still somewhat intertwined with George’s, curved to rest upon the back of the other’s waist- not suggestively, probably not anyway, but moreso in support. He didn’t seem to mind at all, which was fine with Dream, as he was euphoric enough anyway.

Their bodies were pressed together in a way that would usually betray a truly comfortable couple, one of Dream’s legs encircled by George’s more limber ones… yet again, not an explicitly suggestive pose, but something that was pure comfort and desire, barely edging on such things.

Lost in their own world, Dream only registered the sounds of voices in a crescendo growing louder when they were behind nearer buildings. He immediately pulled away, cold air upon the other’s suddenly exposed lips making him softly gasp, a sound that made Dream want to dive back in again… but not out here, for sure.

He didn’t want to fill his lungs with anything else ever again, but he took a deep breath of startlingly crisp oxygen, and turned his controlled yet hungry eyes back to his advisor. He was attempting to disguise everything, really, with George still leant back against the wall.

“Let’s- let’s go.” he suggested rawly, taking a step down the path towards the palace. He knew once they got to somewhere even remotely private, the stupor would’ve died down, and everything would just turn cold again.

But the look on George’s face still meant everything to Dream in this moment, and people were coming, and it would look so weird right now if they were seen like this. So in a quick motion, he stepped forth and grasped George’s hand, still curled around the imprints of what was previously his. He pulled a glistening jade orb from his inventory with the other hand, the one that had been in the other masculine’s palm, and hurled it as far as he could down the path that led to safety.

Just as fanatic citizens rounded the corner, the two were gone, in mere particles of violet smoke. Only an odd, nonexistent bug marked their existence here.


End file.
